


Strays

by KeyStone



Series: Tales of Pearl the White Wyvern [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Byleth has a weakness for strays, Byleth is a wiley one, Claude is a bit of a brat, Claude von riegan/ byleth, Developing Relationship, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Jeralt Reus Eisner, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, baby wyvern, but he really isn't, but we love him anyway, lots of feels, memories of child Byleth, okay he is, pearl the white wyvern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 23:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20629055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyStone/pseuds/KeyStone
Summary: Summary: Byleth just happens to be hiding the fact that she's taken in an unwanted baby wyvern from Jeralt. Claude and the rest of the Golden Deer might also just have a betting pool on how long she can keep the secret up. Also Jeralt is best dad (and he really doesn't like Claude).Excerpt: He groans, because of course, of course, this is happening. How did he not see it sooner? All the signs were there. The distance, the abrupt stop in visits, the vanishing act. He sighs, why did his daughter have to have such a fondness for bringing home strays?





	Strays

The mountain air cools his lungs. He breathes it in greedily, savoring the taste, the feel. It's a welcome distraction. A respite from paperwork and blood spiked air. 

He stares at the pond, a sad smile slothing across his lips. It’s been decades since he wandered the grounds of Garreg Mach, searching for a girl. 21 years. It’s been 21 years, and yet. . . it’s like nothing changed at all. He closes his eyes and waits for the mercy of difference.

The sound of wind wrinkling across water, of the dining hall's echoes scenting the air; the trill of prayers, the whispers of crushes and dense lessons; and the smells of freshly bloomed flowers. He sighs, it’s all the same.

His memories break into the world of the living. He breathes in the scent of those same golden-white flowers. Relishes how its perfume mixes with the aromas of fresh ink and old books. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He can’t pretend she’s there with open eyes. It's the same scent that used to linger on her skin.

He shakes his head and opens his eyes. The past will have to wait. He needs to find By, needs to talk to her. The docks had been his last bet--and the only thing he’s found are ghosts. He walks on. His ears tuning out casual chatter and clanking armor hoping to find some trace of his daughter's voice. His eyes searching bevies of babbling brats and mulling monks for some hint, some sign of her.

Nothing.

He finds nothing.

He runs a hand through bristly hair. Where hasn't he looked? He's tried her quarters, the stables, the library, the greenhouse, the training room, the dining hall, the markets, even the bloody church but he can’t seem to even find her shadow. He catches a whiff of that perfumed air and lets out a sigh. Had he ever had to search for By like this? Had he ever had to ponder over spots to look?

No, he never had to think, never had to search. He always just knew where she was, where she'd be. Now, though. . . things were different. By was different.

Coming to Garreg Mach changed things. 

Some of the changes he likes. By smiles more, her laughs come easier. It's nice to see her small smiles, to hear her breathy laughs, to see traces of her alive in their daughter. His broad shoulders fall as he sighs. But, not all of the changes are as warm as her smile, as pleasant as her laugh. 

He knew coming back would change everything, but he thought . . . he hoped some things would stay the same. He shakes his head, his feet pausing before carrying him forward once again. It is petty, perhaps, but it's the distance that bothers him most. They used to train together, teach each other, eat together, hunt together, talk to each other. Now though? He hasn't seen her, really seen her, in nearly a month.

Their missions were a little too good at keeping them apart. But was it as simple as that? Was that the reason behind the distance? Lately, it almost feels like she's avoiding him. Why though? Had she figured it out? Had Lady Rhea said something? Done something?

He runs his fingers across his grizzled beard. There are too many secrets. Too many things waiting to go wrong. Too many things she should already know. He needs to talk to his little warrior. Needs to know she's okay. That they're okay. 

A familiar voice catches his ear. He glances towards the sound, eyes locking onto Leonie’s orange hair. He grins, the kid is a spitfire. Always has been. She’s sitting under the gazebo with flusters of red flaming across her face. He doesn't need to make out the words to know she's giving shit to some bratty noble. The only question is which one?

Curiosity piqued, he edges forward and catches sight of messy brown hair. He knows that hair. It belongs to one of those brats. The ones whose pleas for help had brought them to this damn place. He spies a golden bead dangling on braided hair. The archer. The few times he’s managed to run into By, he's been there hovering in the background. He didn’t like any of the brats here. Not really. But he really didn’t like that particular brat.

His quarrel with the golden brat isn’t his origins, it’s his smiles.

His smiles never reach his eyes.

Such smiles aren’t the worst Jeralt's seen. They aren’t even the scariest. But they are the smiles of liars, of users. He's been around long enough to know to be wary of such smiles. Along with the people that make them/ Lying teeth and mint green hair flash through his mind.

By had enough people gaming to use her. She didn't need another. 

Leonie's voice snaps him from his thoughts, "I don’t know why you keep bringing this up. I'm telling you he already knows. He has to. He's Captain Jeralt. There's no way he doesn't. He's just waiting for the right moment." 

He raises an eyebrow and sets the information aside. He'll talk to her later, but right now he needs to find his little warrior. And if Leonie doesn’t know where she is, he's positive the Bratty Archerwill. 

He watches the golden boy shift his head. It’s a casual, a smooth sort of movement, but it's also the way you tilt your head to listen to enemy footfalls. If he’d been anybody else, he’d probably have missed it. Perhaps the brat had some skill to back up his smugness after all.

"Sure, sure, and Lorenzo knows he's intolerable. He's just waiting for the right moment to take action." There's a tone to the boy’s voice that irks him. 

Leonie's eyes flicker towards him, “Claude shut it." 

"No can-do Leonie, it's time someone pulled Jeralt of that pedestal of yours. Now admit, Teach still has the wool pulled over his eyes." Jeralt falters, what did he just say? Was By hiding something? He chases the thought from his head. He might not know what's going on with By, but he is certain that the brat is up to something.

"Seriously shut it," her words are whispered but firm. Hmm, seems his girl had won a bit of Leonie’s trust. Unlike the archer, she at least seemed to care enough to try to protect her teacher's secrets.

The golden boy leans back in his chair, arms behind his neck. "I'm serious. You need to come to terms that your bet was off. Just face it, you underestimated _my_ Teach. You know, she's got more wiles than she lets on." He’s been around enough tricksters to know the mirthy sound of one's own delight in a scheme going to plan. But this? It's as if he steeped his words in imaginary pats for his back.

He’s going to enjoy making him sweat. He crosses his arms, and lets his words fall with the strength of a father’s voice, "Your Teach, huh? I thought you were both my daughter's students."

The brat in gold tenses then turns to greet him. Claude plasters a smile on his lips, but can't manage to hide the paleness falling like a curtain over his face. Guess he really didn't mean to let that slip. “Well if it isn't the Blade Breaker himself. Long-time no see."

He glares at the brat's eyeless smile and deepens his voice. "I asked you a question. I expect an answer." The look on Leonie's face makes him regret his tone, but the regret vanishes as soon as the archer speaks. 

"Well, you know Leonie here doesn't really see Teach as her Teach. She seems to have someone else in mind for that role.” The paleness retreats as he wields his silver tongue. “Me though? I'll let her teach me anything." Jeralt doesn't bother to hide his amusement when he catches Leonie kicking him under the table. The action while entertaining isn't enough to distract him from the fact that the brat is actually trying to make him angry. Curious. What exactly was the boy up to?

Leonie breaks the silence, "To answer your question, Sir, yes we are both her students."

He glares at Claude, "Good, then you'll surely be able to help me. Don't suppose either you two know where I can find her? Do you?"

He watches the brat get ready to leave, “You know what, I’d love to help, but Leonie I have to. . . Before golden boy even has a chance to push his chair out from the table, he's firmly holding it in place. He might not like intimidation, but he isn't above using it. 

Leonie's voice cuts through the tension, “She'll probably be back in her room by now.”

"Thanks, Leonie," he turns to leave, his steep gate carrying him quickly towards By’s quarters. He's past the bushes when he hears that back-patting smug tone of his again.

"Leonie I can't believe you sold teach out like that!" 

"Me! I was trying to save you from getting murdered! Did you see his face? What were you thinking anyway? . . . Wait . . . the bet! You conniving little . . . "

He doesn't stick around to hear the rest. There is something going on, and he wants to hear it about it not form Leonie, not from that brat, but from his daughter. 

It doesn't take him long to reach her quarters. He hesitates, the haunting smell of flowers invades his nostrils. His hands are on her doorknob when her voice finally reaches his ears.

"Why must you be such a bed hog? Huh? What, don't give me that look. Ugh fine, fine. Come here. It’s a good thing your cute, you know?”

He groans, because of course, of course, this is happening. How did he not see it sooner? All the signs were there. The distance, the abrupt stop in visits, the vanishing act. He sighs, why did his daughter have to have such a fondness for bringing home strays?

It was one thing while they were traveling. It was practically to be expected. Going town to town with only brutish men for company? Of course, she'd picked up a stray now and then. Her heart didn't beat, but she still needed a friend. But here? Where'd she even find one? Questions swarm his mind. Is it a girl or a guy this time? Are her students involved? What are they like? Are they fierce and feisty like Gabbro? Small and cunning like Mica? Ungainly and loyal like Talc? He sighs, maybe this time things can be different. Maybe this time he can let them stay together.

He doesn't bother knocking, he just bursts and finds them in bed. The not so little stray is lays splayed across her chest its little feet dangling down her sides. Despite himself, he smiles.

Her stray isn’t feisty like Gabbro the horse. It isn't cunning like Mica the fox. And it isn't ungainly like Talc the cat. No, it's scaly like Shale, the tailless lizard. He sighs. Maybe this time, things can be different. Maybe this time he can let them stay together.

The tenderness in By’s eyes snaps to panic at the sight of him. She lurches up, throwing the wyvern from her chest. The chirps of distress it makes as it falls into a jungle of blankets are absolutely not cute. No. Definitely not cute. He hardens his face. 

Like the girl of years past who got caught hiding a litter of kittens in their caravan, her voice is small but strong, "I, um I . . . can explain."

He shakes his head, and crosses his arms, "Let me guess it followed you home."

"If I say yes, can I keep her?" She tilts her head, eyes growing wide. The not so little wyvern frees itself from the tangle of sheets and catches sight of him. The little creature tilts its head, mimicking its master. Its eyes dart back between him and By. "She wants to know if she can greet you." 

He runs his hand down his face and nods. In a flash, there is a pitter-patter of wyvern feet weaving between his legs. He kneels down and succumbs to the wyvern's enthusiastic demand for pets.

He runs his calloused hands over smooth white glimmering scales. She was healthy. Likely not a stray. A preventative rescue? He holds back a sigh and trades it for a smile. He knew his daughter well enough not to scratch out the possibility of downright theft. She'd once shown up with a Pitt quilted in scars. It's broken chain dangling in her too-small hands. She'd said she found him. He didn't ask where. He'd seen the dog chain in the previous town chained to post.

He’d let her keep the dog, just long enough for them to travel far away from that town. Then he dropped the then chubby beast off at a tavern. The owner owed him, and Onyx was a hell of a lot better at catching rats than the man's lazy tabby. 

"Do I even want to know?" He asks. 

"Probably not," she hesitates. He watches her wide eyes carefully evaluating his every move. "But Seteth and Lady Rhea said I could keep her." 

He barks out a chuckle. The brat got one thing right. His girl has wiles. "Going above my head now? I see how it is." He couldn't say he blamed her. He's always played the bad guy when it came to her and her strays. But the life of a traveling merc just wasn't the life for a pet. 

"Maybe," she says her voice bolder than before.

"I take it Scales here is the reason you've been avoiding me?" he asks

She frowns, "I wasn't, I didn't mean too . . . I'm sorry."

At the sound of her voice, the tiny dragon perks her head and skitters over to By. The critter ruts her legs out of its way and ungracefully shoves its head under her bed. The sounds of claws on wood and the unmistakable sight of a wiggling wyvern butt echoes the dragon’s poor life decision to hide in a space one size too small. 

He huffs, "Can't say I blame you she's," his breath catches. Freed from her prison, the wyvern emerges, and he swears it's smiling. An abused golden-white flower dangles from its mouth. The little wyvern hops on the bed and shoves the flower in By's face.

By scoops up the flower and lets out a chuckle. "Trying to get me high. Huh? Is that your solution to everything?" He watches her twirl the flower between her fingers, she looks just like her mother. She used to do the same thing when he brought her flowers. How could so much be the same?

He shakes his head, "Don’t suppose you care to explain that comment?"

“Oh uh, the flowers. They're like catnip for wyverns." A smile warms his lips, and just for a moment, he closes his eyes. Wyvern nip and smiles, now that was definitely different. 

"Claude brings her a fresh batch every few days. She loves them, hides them under the bed so no one can steal 'em. She shares them with me, though. When she thinks I need to smile.” His lips curve as he watches Scales once again push the flower towards his daughter’s face. He'd forgotten how much more expressive she was with an animal around. The curve of his lips retreats downwards, she'd told the golden brat, her students, Seteth, even Lady Rhea about her, but not him. "What's her name?" he asks.

"Pearl," she clutches the flower tighter and breathes it in. A petal falls. 

"Well, little Pearl looks like your granddad has some catching up to do. How about we start by picking you some fresh flowers? Hmm?" Pearl leaps off the bed and rushes him. He rights his footing and ends his topple before it begins.

By releases a breathy laugh, "I think she likes that idea." 

"So how long have you been hiding little Pearl from me?" He asks, scratching the wyvern’s forehead. 

By shrugs, and pulls a leash and harness out of her desk drawer. "A few months."

He scuffs. Now that was a new record.

"So, how'd you figure it out?" she asks.

"Well, that bratty archer of yours made it pretty obvious something was going on.” Bitterness seeps into his tone. “He even goaded poor Leonie into it.” 

“He’s not a brat,” she says, calling Pearl to her side.

“And pigs can fly,” it’s more of a bark than a civil reply.

She smirks, “They can when a wyvern carries them.”

He rolls his eyes, but bites back his retort at the sight of the frown passing over her face, "Is he how you figured it out?"

He hesitates, mentally measuring the weight of the truth versus a lie, “No, not really."

“Don't suppose you'd mind elaborating on that? Would you?” He shrugs his shoulders and relays the day's events to her while she harnesses Pearl, and they head out the door. 

She walks at his side, nodding along to his tale while Pearl flutters along on her lead. "So, you were coming to see me, couldn't find me, ran into Claude and Leonie. Claude schemed, then you came straight here, overheard me, fell for Pearls charms and now we're on a walk. Is that right?"

"Yes," he responds the edge of a question in his voice. "Although I have to say I still think Bratty Archer Boy is by fair a more suiting name."

She glares at him, then grins, "Perfect. I might need you to repeat that later."

He raises an eyebrow, "There may or may not be a running bet on how you'd find out when you'd find out, and how'd you'd react when you do. And I may or may not have some winnings to steal from an overly cocky class leader."

Pearl jumps at the current of laughter that rushes from his throat. Bratty Archer Boy didn't stand a chance. His girl had wiles. Maybe, his eyeless smiles weren’t that big of a problem after all.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Guilt weighs on his chest, he feels it every time he breathes. He didn't much care for the feeling. 

Tricky Leonine by making Jeralt angry was one thing. But selling out Teach? He throws his hands behind his neck and thumbs the knots straining his muscles as he walks. 

It's not like he did anything wrong. Not really. He hadn't even planned it. Okay so maybe he had, but still. Jeralt was bound to figure it out sooner or later, and poison ingredients weren't exactly cheap. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

Before he knows it, he is knocking on Hilda's door.

"Come in," of course, she isn’t willing to get up and open the door. He shakes his head and enters. She’s hunched over at her desk. Pile of books and homework are shoved to the side to make room for the beads and wire her fingers are handling. She sets down the new hairpin she’s working on and turns to him.

"Here to collect, my winnings," the weight clings to his chest pressing on his lunges. He gives her a smile. She gives him a look of utter bewilderment.

He raises an eyebrow, "What?"

"You didn't hear?" she asks.

He can hear the coming laughter in her voice, “ ‘Fraid not, care to fill me in?"

The dams of laughter burst, and Hilda howls. He taps his foot nervously and waits for her flood of laughter to end. He lets out a sigh, she holds out a finger and bites down her laugh.

"Man, the professor really did school you?" giggles linger on her breath.

His pulse quickens, "Words Hilda, use your words. What's going on?" 

"The professor won the bet, Claude. All of it. She collected her winnings over an hour ago. Even had the balls to get her own dad to verify the winning conditions." 

"What?" Teach knew? She was in on the bet? How hadn't he known about this? 

"Your face it's just" she kneels over laughing. "I was a little pissed about keeping quiet about it. Specially since her winning meant not getting out of stable duty, but your face. By the goddess, your face makes it all worth it."

Claude shakes his head and turns to leave the weight on his chest fading, as a smile creeps into his eyes. His Teach had wiles. And damn he was falling for them. 

**Author's Note:**

> The story was a bit of a fighter, and writing Jeralt and Claude was challenging, but I did my best. It was so hard to call Claude a brat. There is a reason for me doing it though *Crosses fingers* And later on, it totally won't make you cry. 
> 
> I'm definitely going to be anxiously checking comments on this one! So please be kind! For those who comment, leave kudos, and subscribe, thank you! You are the power that drives my writing fingers across my keyboard. 
> 
> P.S. TheAmeriFin I know you were looking forward to Jeralt meeting Pearl. I hope it met your expectations.
> 
> P.S.S.  
I hope the idea of tiny Byleth rescuing strays feels your heart with warmth.


End file.
